Kaleidoscope
by Chippy the Cookie Dragon
Summary: What would you do if the fate of humanity hung on your fingertips? Who would you trust? And what if the one you trust isn't the one you were destined to follow...
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men. They are owned by Marvel, and a bunch of other incredibly creative people who aren't me. I _do,_ however, own this idea, a battered computer, and a wallet that's filled with dust bunnies. None of which are worth the time and effort of the law, so…yeah…

**__**

Kaleidoscope

Warnings: attempts at sci-fi-ness, possible OOC-ness, change in histories/personalities/alliances/powers, swearing, blood/gore, weird/sucky/mixed-up writing style (feel free to help =P)

To fly beyond the reach of this mundane existence termed as "life". Isn't that what every mortal dreams? Suffering, hardship, it's all too difficult to endure; why not simply avoid them altogether? The limits of endurance of the human spirit have mellowed over the years, with improvements in this magical weapon known as "technology". They used it to combat many things—sickness, injury, environmental limitations...In some ways, they might have even worshiped this unlikely angel that had been their ultimate source of salvation in so many aspects. Yet, it was a strange angel, with wings built upon the cold concrete of mistake and a heart forged from the frozen elements of sacrifice and betrayal. It knew no mercy for those who failed to embrace its power, and imposed wrath on all who stood in its way. But they still loved it. They loved the power it had brought them; the forbidden power to rule above all other creatures, and indeed, to overcome the very land that had nurtured them from their birth into this complex wheel of survival. Technology had given the earth a new master, one who strived for the goalless goal of perfection and absolute flawlessness. Blinded by the deceptive shroud of improvement, they did not see that the earth they were so painstakingly trying to mould was never destined for a future where everything went right for everyone. Death, that elusive adversary that they had been trying to exterminate, was no more that a tool in an intricately designed master plan. But still they reached, still they tried. For the fruits of success just seemed too sweet to resist… 

The maturing years of the twentieth century heralded progression for the humans, yet when the influence over evolution was wrenched beyond their control, they panicked, and took measures to rid the world of those who were _different_. Instead of acceptance and embracement, mutation was labelled as strange, and dangerous. Mutants themselves were shunned; cast aside as inferiors despite their numerous talents. It all bore down to fear—for that is what a person reacts with in accordance to a new and unfamiliar situation. And what better way to deal with your fears than to beat them down completely? They had thought that they could avoid the feral wrath of the dragon's rage by simply hacking at its claws, but they had not counted on it biting back. Steel teeth tore mercilessly into steel feathers. Advancement was crippled, and the society was prevented from soaring to new heights at the face of rebellion. And so begun the confrontation against themselves. A horribly warped form of natural selection would prove to be deciding factor of the victors—luck was a thing of the past; fate had become obsolete. Talent was only as important as how it was used, and skill and cunning went almost hand in hand. It was a bitter fight; one of thoughts and words as well was blood. And woe betide all who got caught in the way.

__

Silvery scales glinted sharply as the dragon coiled backwards, red eyes flaring with rage.

Icy formality dripped from the opposition's cold stare as it stared back unflinchingly, wintry wings cocked and ready.

They were two of a kind, there enemies. Not quite prepared, both a little fearful, yet they had undeniable streaks of pride and determination and carried them irresistibly forward. Molten metal flowed through their veins, pumped by the pulsating brilliance of courage and determination. Neither wanted to lose…

Gazes were locked; muscles tightened; breathings quickened. They were waiting now; biding their time; just watching for the perfect opportunity to strike. The dragon growled low in its throat, flexing its claws. The angel's fists clenched and its metallic feathers spread purposively into an offensive stance. 

****

Not yet…not yet…

__

Fiery streaks of lightning arched across the ebony skies, crackling in the heavy silence. Gusts of chilling wind howled and tugged at clouds, ripping at their blissful nonchalance. 

****

Not yet…not yet…

__

Tension mounted, yet the adversaries remained unwavering. It was a waiting game. The one who lost its focus first would lose. Concentration grated against stamina as the seconds slipped on. 

****

Not yet…not yet…

__

Their resilience was unearthly; incredible. The unvoiced apprehension of the atmosphere was broken only by the sounds of the imminent storm. Finally, an inquisitive raindrop slipped from its protective embrace, engaging in an invigorating tumble towards the earth until it finally came to rest, soaked up immediately by the soil. The sound it made upon the face of the terrain was soft; barely discernible, but it was enough to tip the careful scales of wariness into a wildly uncontrollable spiral of pure instinct. 

****

NOW!

__

A bright flash of brilliance illuminated their poised figures as they shot forward, crudely etching into every last detail of expression. It preserved them forever in the histories of time as they last were—fearful, spiteful, hateful warriors of the blood, unafraid to kill and unwavering in their mindsets. Then, abruptly, the moment of eternity was over. 

And the war began. 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Whee! That wasn't too confusing, was it? I enjoy making people think a little while they read…

Anyway, this is supposed to be an alternate-reality fic of sorts, so expect a whole bunch of weird stuff from a weird writer on her first venture into the world of the X-men. The prologue's kinda short, but I promise that all will be explained in later chapters, so…read 'em! =P 

That's about everything I can think to ramble about. Hope you enjoyed this! If you didn't, too bad…*shrugs* 

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome, and much-appreciated! I think I need them as well…._


	2. Runaway

**__**

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men. They are owned by Marvel, and a bunch of other incredibly creative people who aren't me. I _do,_ however, own this idea, a battered computer, and a wallet that's filled with dust bunnies. None of which are worth the time and effort of the law, so…yeah…

**__**

Kaleidoscope

Bare feet pounded onto unrelenting concrete, raising a frantic beat of helplessness and distress that intertwined almost mockingly into the heavy stillness of night. Gasps and short whimpers punctuated her desperate bolt towards nothingness, a brief glimmer of humanity in the City of Steel. But humanity was not welcome there. Weeds of control, power and authority took priority over the fragile bud that was compassion, overshadowing it; obscuring its importance; destroying the roots it had so painstakingly implanted in the hearts of a new Man. And she was all alone. All alone in a painful struggle for identity. For who would ever help a Rogue?

Legs stumbled; hands groped frantically for support; hair whipped in the merciless winds and caught in her face and her tears. Each step taken drove her further and further away from civilisation, and deeper into the harsh embrace of that horrible darkness of being different. She was running from her own people, but that hardly seemed to matter anymore. They were—and always had been—faceless drones of some inexplicable force that demanded repentance of those who were not as perfect as it desired. 

Those like her.

Half-blood…traitor…taboo…freak…Each word summoned brought back agonising recollections of discovery and rejection. The look of shock on her aunt's face…the look of disgust on her uncle's…then there was Maxine, fright hidden behind a mask of childish curiosity…and…her father…the fear that spread across his features was more than she could bear. So she ran. Ran away from the only people that ever mattered, and ever would…because, deep down inside, she knew they was scared too. And so was she.

It was a disease, this terrible sensation, coursing throughout her body; filling every vein with its commanding presence like poison…

Was it panic? Sadness? Longing? She couldn't tell, and didn't want to. All she was aware of was the fact that a chapter of her life had drawn itself to an unrealistically abrupt end. She would never go back, _never, _not to the sneers and the questions and the squalor of immoral comments she knew had already taken form in their minds. Jogging slowly, she came to rest at the base of a rusty old lamppost, rubbing a black sleeve over her eyes. 

Droplets of wetness soaked into the soft cotton, seeping through to her skin. It was one of the few things that she could feel without hurting…her family had always wondered why she swathed herself in lengthy garments even in the heat of summer…well, now they knew. She was the Rogue, a nickname given to her by an affectionate mother, held onto because of its darker significance. 

The Rouge from hell with a demon's touch and milk-white skin that stung of fire…

She never told anyone, preferring instead to bury the abnormality, and shy away from physical contact entirely. She was the normal, antisocial, ten-year-old girl, who had never kissed her father in the mornings or carried her baby sister around the house. She was the normal thirteen-year-old, the only one in the class who hadn't a date for the school dance, choosing to coop herself up in her room and her thoughts. And now, at seventeen, she was the normal, emotional, teenage runaway who had almost killed her own parent. Who knew what she would _be_ tomorrow…

Rogue knew the man had probably deserved it. He was a thief; a low-life criminal who had slipped in through their basement in the hopes of squandering some of their hard-earned treasure. He'd pocketed a chestful of her mother's best jewellery before she discovered him, and the idea of him taking those last few precious shreds of a quickly fading memory all but snapped her. That was the first time in over ten years that she had taken off her gloves in public and the memory of his agonised expression would ensure that it was also the last. She had felt his life force draining into her, a warm steady stream of energy that fogged her mind and filled her with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She heard him cry out; felt his desperate struggling, but she didn't care. She wanted him to suffer—and he had…

Oh, but it got better. About three seconds into the absorption, and her entire arm started to freeze. Not chilled; not cold—literally _frozen_ into a solid block of ice. Now, that couldn't be a very normal reaction, even for her, could it? A perfectly good excuse for her to freak out, wasn't it? So she had. She'd screamed, and tried to yank her stiff fingers out of their own death grip. And the ever-patient perpetrator,—who, by the way, had not been innocent to start out with—brought up a fist and socked her right in the jaw. Her grasp was broken. Rather abrasively; but broken nevertheless. Justice is blind, right? So, naturally, the guy managed to crawl back through the gaping portal of escape that was the window before her father managed to rush to the scene. What had Rogue done in that time? She'd just sat there, feeling the painful trickle of heat spread throughout her mouth. It wasn't fair…nothing was fair anymore…and she hated him for going out of his way to further prove the point. Through a faint fog of stunned condemnation, she dimly registered the fact that her father was trying to pull her to her feet. That was not what she needed. Compassion and false sympathy could not erase what she'd done. She'd failed. Again. She'd let her mother be snatched from her side for the second time…and she despised herself for it. What happened after, even Rogue didn't know for sure. All she knew was that she had pushed that caring hand away. Then the air around her suddenly seemed to spring alive; a million different pinpricks of feeling assaulting her senses at once. And she'd struck out without even realising it. 

Moist brown reflected her own horror as they focused disbelievingly on the crystalline point that had embedded itself in his abdomen. The dread that set in then was like nothing Rogue had ever felt before. She had used her lethal skills after all, when she had promised she wouldn't...and worse still, she had _hurt _someone with them—her own flesh and bone. Her hands were stained forever with the blood that had been spilt, the deliberation of attempted murder hung over her neck like a sickle, glistening in red light. 

She took in a quivering breath, fighting a losing battle against the howl of misery within.

__

I am what I am…a murderer…a killer…a danger…

For those were the titles that came with the misfortune of being a mutant, and the genes she had inherited from her mother would ensure that they stayed with her for the rest of her outcaste life. Her mind screamed for her to be strong; to turn her back upon her would-be guardians and move on, but her heart told her otherwise.

__

I'll never see them again…never…The word sunk into her brain in its full entirety, and she sunk to the ground, hands on her knees, waist-length hair falling over her shoulders and onto her too-pale cheeks. _Just let me cry now…let me cry and I swear I'll never cry again…_

But the tears didn't come.

__

Behold, the kaleidoscope of time,

Which has cracked and left me stranded in dust…

Undo what others say,

Unknot that which has been done…

But at the end of it all,

I am still the same…

I am still…

Alone.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Yeaaah…and we all really _have no clue_ as to who that there bad robber is, do we? *_cough cough_* Hehe…have no idea if Marie has a sister or not, but for the sake of the story, let's just pretend that she does. ; )

And so ends chapter one, with our alleged heroine sinking into a miserable state of depression and hoping for a meteorite to fall out of the sky and end her pointless existence once and for all. Woohoo! Reading it wasn't _that_ torturous, was it? =P

I know it's kinda short, but hey—good things come in small packages, don't they? 

All right…so maybe I just do kinda like suspense…

And laziness…

Hehe…^.^;

Anyways, I included a summary for reference…hopefully it helps make things easier to understand =P 

Replies to Reviewers (with thanks and candy and flowers):

To Valiowk: Glad you think it's interesting =D. The words in italics are kinda related to the setting. The dragon represents the mutants, and the angel represents the humans. Their actions show how they're reacting to each other and stuff like that. So now, they're basically trying to kill one another…yeah…^-^;

To VladimirsAngel: My first reviewer!! I shall forever treasure your little blue box and words! Hope this chapter helps you understand a bit more. =)

__

Just a thought…

The X-men advertising for new recruits…

**TV is flipped on**

Bobby: Can you cool drinks without a freezer?

Jean: Do you see things that aren't there?

Kurt: Are you always were you aren't supposed to be?

Scott: Then, do we have a job for you! Join Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters today, and turn your abnormality into an advantage! Free rooms, free showers and free food are just some of the privileges you'll receive when you sign up. We're looking for those diehard fans of the weird and unnatural, with a slight destructive streak and—

Wolverine: We don't want any pussies or wimps. *growls* You think you got what it takes to take someone like me on then—

Scott: *shoving Wolverine off-screen* Kindly call 1900-192-2828. That's 1900-192-2828. Of course *smiles* those of you with telepathic abilities out there, don't hesitate to drop Jean here a psi-mail—

Jean: Drop me a psi-mail? *raises eyebrow* We never discussed _this_!

Scott: Oh! We _didn't_? *frantically glances towards Bobby* How—how _careless_ of me…

Bobby: *activates the fire alarm* Oh dear…there seems to be a raging inferno heading this way. We're all out of time for now.

Scott: Yes! All out of time! *edges away from Jean* So, call us soon! *starts running*

Jean: Or—if you value you life—, just pretend you did, but don't. *flies after Scott*

Bobby: *stares after the two* That went well…

Kurt: Ja…but look at it this way—it could have been worse. *puts on a huge fake grin* Dial 1900-192-2828 today! You won't regret it. 

Bobby: Not _yet_ anyway.

**TV is flipped off**

Viewer: What a bunch of weirdos…*levitates from his chair, teleports into the kitchen, and grabs a soda with one of sixteen arms*

Alright…alright…I'll stop now. *grins*

Comments and constructive criticism are still welcome, and much-appreciated still!


End file.
